


Improprium

by Stormvoël (BushRat8)



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Impropriety, Oral Sex, PWP, Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 04:53:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14441778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BushRat8/pseuds/Stormvo%C3%ABl
Summary: As she watches Barbossa across the dinner table, observing the sensual gusto with which he partakes of his food, the innkeeper starts to mentally take off his clothes and think about what she's seen and felt with him.  It's no surprise that things get very heated after that.Mind the rating.  This is very improper, indeed.





	Improprium

**Author's Note:**

> The innkeeper's adherence to her community's expected social/sexual norms has taken quite a hit ever since she got involved with Barbossa. Her prudish grandmother never informed her of what a woman in an ordinary marriage might expect in the bedroom (not really surprising, as only a bride on her wedding day would be given the particulars); although, needless to say, _he's_ familiar with every type of sexual service that can possibly be bought. But Barbossa never regards the innkeeper the same way that he would a whore; with the latter, it's solely about what he wants, nothing more. With the innkeeper, though, he has an earnest wish to give as much pleasure as he desires to receive for himself, and those two impulses virtually always intersect.
> 
> PWP from the innkeeper's point of view, because I wanted to look through her eyes at Barbossa's most intimate conduct as a lover and know what she thinks, what she feels, what she gives, what she gets. He has a good time, too ;-)
> 
>  _Improprium_ is the Latin for 'something improper' or 'impropriety.' Both Barbossa and the innkeeper would have been at least somewhat educated in that language.
> 
> Wandering tenses, as usual.

 

 

 

-oOo-

 

 

 

 

 

Not that she's ever cared, but the innkeeper knew there'd be vulgar talk from the moment Barbossa returned.  
  
She still remembers the expression on Cora's face when the willowy man with the feathered hat showed up in the dead of night;  might have laughed at the girl, but she'd not had one bit of attention to spare, being so desperately glad to see him.  Cora didn't approve;  approved even less the following morning when she found out her mistress had been in his bed and was now waiting on him hand and foot.  No doubt the maid was the source of much of the indecent gossip that spread quickly through the town… but eh, the innkeeper is long past giving a damn.  She was brought up by her grandmother to be modest, well-behaved, and above reproach, but…  
  
_Heh:  above reproach!_   the innkeeper snorts to herself with an interior grin, recalling the first time she allowed Barbossa to talk her into taking her undergown off and letting him gaze upon her naked body with the sort of equally naked lust she'd never dreamed to see in the eyes of any man, let alone him.  His hands and warm breath had felt so good through the rough linen of her chemise, but the first time he pushed it down from her shoulders and fastened his lips to her bare nipple is a sensation she'll never forget;  even more, _so_ much more, was the wet lap of his tongue to her most private place — "Yer pink pearl,"  he'd called it, brushing his fingertip against her to show what he meant —  a moist, insistent touch that made her belly flutter and ache;  made her desperate to open herself up and invite him inside.    
  
_Nothing proper about that,_   she giggles silently, feeling herself grow damp at the memory even as she sits at the table with four lodgers, two to a side.  Could they possibly know what she's thinking?  
  
Barbossa proudly displayed himself to her the next morning, and never mind that it was broad daylight:  showed her his tall, strong body, covered in scars from the battles he'd fought throughout his life, and the curling auburn hair adorning the base of the quickly stiffening cock between his legs;  something she hadn't seen clearly in the dark the night before, but which had felt huge and hard and so hot as he coupled himself to her.  
  
He'd tried to be gentle that night, with soft kisses, and the deep press of his hips was more careful than was his usual wont.  Not so on many other nights, nor did she always wish it that way.  
  
_Nothing proper about that,_   she thinks again as she watches him wash down a large bite of roast mutton with rich red wine, and it makes her think of the pleasure their mouths can give.  
  
The innkeeper remembers the first time she opened her lips to take the long length of him;  being well-endowed, he was far too big for her to accept him all, but that never mattered.  "Jus' th' tip at first,"  Barbossa instructed, his voice shaky as he placed his hand to the back of her head, urging her on,  "an' a bit more.  Tha-a-a-at's it, a bit more.  Bit more, darlin', an' slip yer tongue 'round.  Oh, God…!  That's it:  back an' forth…"  His whole body quivered with excitement.  "Careful now, Dove;  don't bite…"  
  
_Such an interesting shape,_   she thought as she sucked him.  _Such tender flesh;  so salt and sweet…_  
  
Barbossa went so quickly, wildly out of control that he came in a gush before he could stop himself, whimpering and moaning and going red in the face with every pulse.  His fingers twisted into her hair and he held fast to the innkeeper's head with both hands, begging her to swallow as much of him down as she could, his cries more strained than she'd ever heard them.    
  
It's something the innkeeper discovered at once that she loved:  this most intimate taste of him.  _Ha!!  Nothing proper about that._  
  
Proper.  The innkeeper has to bite down on her lip to keep from laughing aloud in front of her lodgers.  It would never do for them to ask _why_ she's laughing.  
  
Barbossa raises an eyebrow in her direction, knowing she's thinking about something he wants to know;  gets his answer when the innkeeper seductively touches the very tip of her tongue to her upper lip.  "Might ye bring me a tankard of that lemon water of yers?"  he asks, biting back a smile.  
  
When she returns with the mug, Barbossa's arm slides around her waist, his free hand urging her to bend down so he can whisper in her ear.  "Shall I ask what ye're thinkin' 'bout me, then?"  he murmurs, so low that the others can't hear.  "An' don't tell me naught, for I see it in yer eyes…"  He nips her earlobe under cover of her cap.  "… an' in th' pink of yer cheeks.  Ye want me, girl, an' don't deny it;  not when yer cunny's so drippin' wet that I can smell ye from there t' here."  
  
The innkeeper's cheeks aren't pink, they're flaming red, and she (ever-so-reluctantly) wriggles out of Barbossa's grasp.  "Do excuse me, sir, but do you always manhandle your landladies?"  
  
"Only th' one as runs this place, m' darlin',"  he teases.  "Now, mind what I said, eh?"  
  
The innkeeper returns to her place, but can barely sit still because he's right:  she's wet and the familiar ache is back, and there's a strange, tormenting itch that will only be relieved by the flick of Barbossa's soothing tongue or the rub of his cock inside her.  _I don't give a damn if there's nothing proper about that!_  
  
Having four lodgers means a lot of post-dinner work that she can't pawn off on Cora, but she's so distracted that the maid gives her a wily, knowing look.  "Want me to go draw 'im a bath, Missus?"  she asks saucily once the pans and crockery are washed.  
  
That earns her a sharp glare from the innkeeper, who knows that, while Cora has no wish to do anything for Barbossa if she can help it, the girl's always been curious to see what he looks like sans clothing.  "I want you to do exactly nothing for him unless I order it directly,"  she snaps.  "Now finish mopping the kitchen;  then you can go to bed."  
  
"Ooooh:  be-e-e-e-e-d,"  snickers Cora.  
  
It's a taunt to which the innkeeper does not respond, only tosses her head and goes out of the kitchen.  Barbossa's waiting for her upstairs, she knows, and she wants him — she _needs_ him — and who cares if there's anything proper about that?  
  
If she could, the innkeeper would shed her clothes on the stairs, the better to be ready for Barbossa when she enters the room, but he'd as soon not be deprived of the delight of undressing her.  "Aye:  yer scent be waftin' from there t' here,"  he says softly, breathing in as he approaches her.  "Christ, girl, but ye smell so fuckin' good.  Didn't think I could wait one minute longer."  He doesn't yet let her sit or lie down, but makes her stand as he pulls her clothes off, kneeling to put himself face-first where she's sweetest.  "Watch me, now,"  he orders.  "Watch while I lick ye.  Ye know ye want to."  
  
_There's nothing proper about that!_    
  
She's a river, flowing onto Barbossa's tongue, slicking his lips, drenching his cheeks and chin, and his grip on her tightens when he feels her tremble.  "Ye've a beautiful cunny,"  he murmurs against the soft flesh,  "an' such a lovely little pearl…"  
  
The innkeeper's voice is thick with desire as she stares at his pink tongue working against her.  "Hector… I want…"  
  
"What?"  He nibbles on her, first gently, then harder, knowing she can't bear it — that she'll spend herself within moments — and the instant she does, Barbossa rises to his feet and lifts her up in his arms, bearing her off to the bed.  "What d' ye want, sweet?  Ye must tell me.  D' ye wish m' fingers t' stroke inside ye;  d' ye want th' slide of me cock?"  He touches her lips.  "Or p'raps ye shall wish t' open yer mouth t' me?"  
  
_There's nothing proper about this!_   the innkeeper thinks, furiously blushing, for he doesn't often make her speak.  _Nothing, nothing… and I don't care!_   "I want it all, but I'd suck you first."  
  
"Say it again!"  
  
The innkeeper reaches down, fingertips grazing his hairy abdomen.  "I said, Hector, that I want to suck you first!"  
  
"Mmm, there's a wicked Dove ye are, t' speak so."  While he talks, Barbossa slowly crawls upward, then turns, his thighs on either side of the innkeeper's head.  "An' there's a pretty mouth ye have,"  he observes,  "ne'er more than when it be filled wi' m' flesh.  Open up."  
  
Nary a thought of proper-or-not goes through the innkeeper's mind as he leans over and pushes himself slowly between her parted lips, further and further, until she's gasping for breath.  She puts her fingers up, sliding them over the furry, pebbly-skinned sac that presses against her cheek;  wonders, as she always does, at the slight sense of movement she can feel within it.    
  
She's in no position to tell Barbossa that she wants to feel him tighten and shudder as he spills himself into her mouth, but if she can just hold him where he is, then the words will not be necessary.  If that's improper, she couldn't care less;  not when he tastes so good.  
  
For his part, Barbossa is all but cross-eyed with ecstasy and hasn't the slightest intention of stopping.  "That's it, sweet!"  he pants as he short-strokes and tries not to gag her.  "That's it, that's it…!"  
  
Suddenly, the innkeeper sweeps her tongue around his cock's corona, and it's too much;  he can't bear any more sensation and begins to groan in half-parts pleasure and agony as his lover gets her wish:  unable to swallow fast enough, his seed overflows her mouth and drips down her neck.  
  
_Fuck proper,_   she thinks, closing her eyes in satisfaction.  
  
Her eyes are still closed when she feels Barbossa shift around and stretch out alongside her, pulling one leg over his hip.  "Ohhh, m' beauty,"  he sighs.  "Lie quiet wi' me;  th' old man'll be up an' poundin' around in a moment, but for now, I'd have ye rest warm an' still in me arms."  
  
_It may be improper,_   the innkeeper thinks again as she nestles against Barbossa and smiles against his chest,  _but I'd not trade any of this for all the good reputation in the world._      
  
 

 

 

  
  
   -oOo-  FIN  -oOo-  
  
     
  
   


End file.
